Heart in Blue
by pammazola
Summary: Salvation and damnation waited for them upon blankets of silk. The three of them could fit together like the conjoining pieces of a puzzle. There is very little that the captain of Scepter 4 is not aware of in his faithful lieutenant and her lover. Oneshot. MFM. MunAwaShimi. Post-anime (season 1).


**Disclaimer: I do not own K-Project.**

**Warnings: Varying degrees of smut, S&M, blood-consumption, and language. Also, the biggie: This story is pretty much a plot-less oneshot. If none of the above bothers you, please read on. Reviews are also appreciated if you have the time.**

**Pairings: MFM – Munakata x Awashima x Fushimi.**

**~oOo~**

_**Heart in Blue**_

**~oOo~**

"Do you love me?"

These four sweet words rolled smoothly off of her tongue. In this moment, with the sun since gone and night comfortably settled – concealing them in a dark cloak similar in composition to the heart of one young man and woman – she desperately wanted to know. Needed to. The air had grown thick and heavy in the small bedroom, and with him on top of her, recovering from his recent climax, she felt suffocated. Rearranging her long limbs entangle with his, the slick feel of their skin as they brushed against one another was perhaps too tender for the likes of who they truly were: Cold and indifferent. These nightly escapes would do little to change that. Awashima could distinguish between making love and fucking. Sometimes, though, she pleaded with him to try and be gentle, just for a few seconds, and she would pretend that his steady hands were the ones that she wanted. He played the part of a lover with perfection. Fushimi was filled with enough bitter hatred and dejection to compliment her own feelings of loneliness and yearning. If she were being completely honest with herself, Awashima knew he had kept her sane in more respects than just the mere sexual ones. Memories of how he vainly attempted to shield her from a rampant Mikoto Suoh still found their way back to her mind, and she could not suppress the small amount of affection that he brought forth from her in those few situations when he betrayed his nonchalant persona on her behalf.

"Do you love me?"

She echoed, curling her lithe fingers in the roots of Fushimi's blue-hued hair. Despite him being of a slight and leaned build, there was a degree of masculinity in the way he held himself above her, possessive, as if he were a dangerous predator cat, relishing in the capture of his helpless prey, and the hunger that had yet to be completely sated glimmered mischievously in those dark eyes. She trembled. Here, in this other world of theirs, status meant nothing. He gladly dominated his superior in bed.

Fushimi swiftly seized one of her slender wrists, pulling it gently from the nest of his hair. He looked upon the delicately feminine hand and its fingers, almost fondly, before pressing his cool lips to the blue veins that were just visible through her translucent skin. For a moment there was nothing but the steady, calming rhythm of her pulse.

"No," he breathed, and she felt relief.

Then came the familiar sting of a steel blade as it sliced down the expanse of the same wrist he held. Fushimi knew how to use a dagger on her body, and the reward was a sweet crimson liquid that he greedily lapped with his skilled tongue. The blood of this woman was a tantalizing addiction he knew he would never tire of. Long since accustomed to the young man's fetish, Awashima let him drink to his content, clenching her teeth and smiling softly.

~oOo~

It was all in his honor.

Munakata Reisi declined the glass of champagne offered to him with a curt shake of his head, disapproval so prominent in his stern glare that the poor waiter noticeably cringed, slinking back and bowing apologetically. He carefully navigated the stairs – leaving the captain to his own devices – and rejoined the bolstering party of the Blue Clansmen. Using his view from the balcony to overlook the long ballroom, Munakata surveyed the men and women under his command. The mandatory blue uniform was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a flood of new colors that were very out of place but did not retract from the enjoyment of the evening. Many bodies moved together in the dim light, basking in each other's warmth and closeness. Rarely did Scepter 4 allow such luxury of self-expression, being a strict and dedicated private force.

He only showed himself for a thank you speech that spanned all of three and a half minutes. The atmosphere had immediately grown solemn and respectful. One did not breathe a word when their king addressed them as a whole, for him to do so was an honor in and of itself. There was not a single person in the room who did not crave his recognition and approval. Such is the manner of Scepter 4. The celebration of the Blue King's complete control of Shizume City was set the moment he raised his wine glass (which he did not drink from) and the mass of people erupted into victorious cheers. They did not restrain themselves after that. The men kissed their women with undisguised vigor. Alcohol was passed around in abundance, and combining that with the continuously rising levels of music threatened to break all the norms of what should be considered appropriate public dancing.

Munakata settled to watch his people from a distance rather than to partake in the festivities himself. Indeed, the night was dedicated solely to him, though this was not his idea of a party, preferring a more refined approach. Still, in all honesty, he would have melted into the background to become but a mere wallflower anyway.

Tightening his firm hold on the mahogany railing, he intently leaned over to scan the inhabitants of the ballroom. His violet eyes zeroed in on one dark figure, slightly obscured due to the lighting and the crowd moving restlessly around him. When Munakata felt his stare being returned by this person of interest, he motioned with a long finger, a wordless, commanding 'Come here'.

Then he pulled away, adjusting the jacket of the black tuxedo that contrasted strikingly with the paleness of his skin. He waited patiently.

~oOo~

"May I have this dance, Lieutenant?" the pretty face asked, a sly curve to his full lips that reminded Awashima of a clown. She half expected him to pull something from within his sleeves in an attempt at flattery. He should know better. Everyone knew she did not like games. She did not like tricks. She did not seem to like men in general, except for her precious king, and even still, whilst she can always be found at Munakata's side, her glare over his shoulder remained stone cold without a glimmer of happiness.

Unimpressed, Awashima withdrew her hands from him, "Perhaps another time," which translated to 'Never'. The man visibly deflated, murmuring under his breath as he walked away, and she knew what he was saying. It was the same as all the others. At the moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She allowed herself to glance at the balcony where his silhouette was illuminated by the nearby window. Her heart fluttered for a fraction of a second before composing herself and looking pointedly away. Awashima suppressed the urge to go to him, the hopeless magnetic attraction between a woman and the man she longed for. Only, he was not an ordinary human being. The magnitude of his power was so great that it sent flickers of electricity licking down her spine whenever she stood in his presence. She loved and feared him equally.

So the blonde lieutenant tore her blue eyes from the king, pressing herself back into the crowd of dancing clansmen, expertly weaving between them so as no desperate fellow could hope to make a grab at her partially exposed breasts or the distinctly round bottom caressed by her form-fitting azure dress. A sweet aroma followed in her wake, smelling richly of a river of violets. Her free-flowing golden tresses swept teasingly under the nose of every man she passed, and they gazed after her longingly. Awashima pressed her lips into a thin line, slightly perplexed. "Where are you, Fushimi-kun?" Just moments before he had been holding up the wall directly opposite of her, artfully blending with the other decorations. Both of them knew they would disappear together before the night came to a close, but now that he was not in her sight, she felt lost in a deep sea of complex emotions. Her face betrayed none of them.

A sigh was rising in her chest when a familiar hand fell upon her own. She did not react; instead letting him pull her closer to his body of equal temperature. She knew every dip and plain of the young man as well as he did hers, the anxiety within her instantly fading away. She could feel his nose nuzzle into her hair, a show of affection that was most uncharacteristic of the sadistic Fushimi. She did not typically go to him seeking love, but rather punishment. She felt deserving of every sinful scar he carved into her flesh.

Their moment was short-lived. Trailing a hand slowly down his navel, Awashima was greeted by the male sex organ she was coming to know very well. He hissed in her ear as she cradled that swollen part of him. His grip on her intensified, mentally fumbling with the reins of his self-control. "Come with me," Fushimi murmured lowly, annoyed at how easily she could manipulate him, which went against their unspoken agreement: There could only be one master and servant.

No objection from Awashima came forth. He separated himself from her, shepherding his prey farther into the shadows, away from the life of the party, away from anyone who might hear her scream.

~oOo~

This bed must have known a thousand lovers before them.

Music resounded loudly from the ballroom, a fast tempo that pumped the adrenaline through their veins and heightened their arousal. Neither of them cared about what carried on outside the door. Salvation and damnation waited for them upon blankets of silk. Instinct took over, a welcoming change to the always calculating mind of Awashima.

Only this time was different.

She earned a fierce glare from her subordinate when she tried to undress, and he haughtily re-tied the bow that secured her breasts from view. Puzzled, she moved to unbuckle his belt, but he would not have that either, and swatted her hands away. A sound of frustration akin to a growl rumbled in the back of her throat. That only brought forth a wry smirk to his angular face, and he used his weight to press her down onto the bed, capturing her wrists above her head. Briefly after tumbling into a more comfortable position, there was a cold, smooth feeling of steel, followed by a sharp click. It registered to her as he sat upright in her lap that Fushimi had just handcuffed her. Not that it was anything new. Perhaps now he would finally touch her the way she wanted…

"Where are you going?" she asked, fighting to follow him as he effortlessly rolled off her and the bed. The demanding glare she only used as his superior failed to bring him back. He bowed, deep and sarcastic, only not to her, but rather the quiet figure that observed from in the light that seethed through the doorway. Realization quickly dawned. Her breath caught sharply, causing her to thrash violently.

"C-Captain?"

The broad shoulders of Munakata entered the room first as he crossed over the threshold. The shadows settled on his face like a mask, frighteningly mysterious. He walked with light, sure steps, his dagger-like body defined by the handsome tuxedo. Awashima recoiled back into the headboard as he came ever closer, but she did not struggle when he stopped to inspect one dainty ankle and the slender foot attached to it. He appeared to be admiring the silver pump, running his fingers along the straps, oblivious to the curious stares of his second and third-in-command.

Finally, he refocused his attention on the younger man watching politely from afar.

"Thank you, Fushimi-kun," and she could just make out the smirk that they shared.

"You… planned this…?" she whispered, uncertain whether to be enraged or delighted. The latter seemed to be winning as her captain continued to explore her exposed leg. His hands were different than those she was used to, perhaps even more pleasant. The powerful aura he emitted washed over her skin, and she felt as if he were bathing her in the essence of himself, and it was glorious.

His fingertips brushed over her scars, coaxing a light mewl from her lips. His soft eyes grew stern. "Do you remember," he asked, in a voice that was much deeper, huskier than his usual tone. "What I said, the day that I told you to be mine?" He allowed his cheek to rest against one of her inner-thighs as both his hands tightly clenched her dress. She could not answer, not with him looking so wantonly between her legs. He did not wait for a response anyway. "'You look beautiful in blue'."

Munakata unwrapped Fushimi's gift to him with deliberate slowness. He thought that the younger man could have done without the use of the handcuffs (the Blue King considered himself far too classy to use such means of physical restraint), but had to agree that the manner in which her arms were held back - making her breasts deliciously larger - turned him on. His clothed limbs entangled with Awashima's naked ones, and he expertly stroked the sensitive, secretive places that made her a woman, catching her every gasp and moan with his mouth. They carried on in foreplay under Fushimi's dark blue eyes. When he finally had enough of watching, he returned to share the bed with them, pressed himself to her from behind, leaving ghost-like kisses along her swan neck, smirking devilishly at the man who was claiming his lover in the front. As Munakata entered her, Fushimi affectionately caressed the rippling muscles of her back, licking the thin sheen of sweat between her shoulder blades. The white lightning patterns of where his blade had carved her into her back flexed when she climaxed violently around her king – the man she truly loved – and Fushimi paused to silently admire his beautiful work of art.

~oOo~


End file.
